


Bits and Bobs

by JackyJango



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Booty Calls, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles is a Professor, Detective!Erik, Domestic Fluff, Erik Being Cocky, Erik Has Feelings, Erik is a Father, Erik is a Sweetheart, Established Relationship, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hades!Erik, Hurt!Erik, M/M, Married Couple, Mpreg, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Rough Sex, Sexting, The 21 Jump Street AU, The Aladdin AU, The Mummy AU, Undercover Missions, autistic!Charles, dadneto, deaf+dumb!Erik, persephone!Charles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-05-10 06:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango
Summary: Collecting & archiving my cherik fics that are hiding & navigating through the labyrinth that is Tumblr. aka, my Tumblr fills & posts!9. Love- With or Without You (Part 1)Mpreg from another!Erik10. Love- With or Without You (Part 2)Mpreg from another!Erik*New*11. The Mummy AU12. An Aladdin AU13. 21 Jump Street AU14. The Beginnings of Belief





	1. Good Looking

**Author's Note:**

> Any of the differences between the posted & uploaded fic is sponsored by me atrocious grammar! *smiles smugly*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles trying select the right shirt while Erik is of no help. Cue, an exasperated Raven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tumblr **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/160760645578/cherik-ficlet-1)**

          'How about this one?’ Raven asks, holding up a navy blue shirt with silver pinstripes.

Charles waves her off. 'No. I've already worn that one to another interview.’

'Okay,’ she breathes, searching through the pile of _yet-to-be-tried_ shirts on the bed. She comes up with a grey button down and holds it in front of her vibrant blue skin. 'What about this?’ she asks, grinning.

'It's too gloomy Raven,’ he replies, throwing a distasteful look at the shirt.

'I don't see what the problem is. It matches with Erik's personality and you certainly like _that._ ’

Charles suppresses his smile while Raven throws the piece of clothing onto a heap of discarded clothes.

Erik is lying on a sofa on the far end of the room, head propped up by the armrest, and lazily browsing through the news on his tablet. He has been watching the banter between the siblings with a resigned boredom, his interest peeking only when Charles changes from one offered piece of clothing to another.

'This one then!’ Raven holds out a pastel blue shirt towards him. ‘It brings out your eyes,’ she says waggling her eyebrows.

Charles assesses it for a moment and puts it on. It does fit him well. He turns towards Erik with a smile and asks, smoothing the fabric with his hands, 'How is it Erik?’

Erik spares a look his way. 'Good,’ he replies and turns his attention back to the news. Despite the lack of emotion in his voice, Erik is telling the truth. Charles can feel it ringing in his head.

There's a low flare of rage shaping in Raven's head towards Erik. She jabs a finger in the latter's direction and snarls, ‘Hey! You have to be more specific than that. You've been saying the same from the past twenty minutes. It really isn't helping you know.’

'It's not my fault that Charles looks gorgeous in whatever he wears,’ Erik replies casually, without looking up from his tablet.

Charles struggles to stifle his laughter and a blush while Raven exhales forcefully to tame down the anger growing exponentially in her head.

'Fine!’ She opens her eyes. 'But what does he look _best_ in?’ she asks, one hand on her hip and the other pointing to three dress shirts picked out on the bed, all in varying shades of blue. 'This, this, this or this?’ She points to the shirt on his person at last.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Erik replies, 'If you ask me, he looks best without any of those.’

Charles catches images of him sleeping, sheets pushed towards his ankles while his skin gleams an unreal shade of ivory in the morning light. Surely he doesn't look that ethereal.

Raven all but explodes next to him. 'Out,’ she growls, sweeping a pointed finger towards the bedroom door.

Erik's wide eyed and startled reaction pushes Charles into uncontrollable laughter. He struggles to stand upright under the onslaught of laughter that surges through his body. Through the tears prickling his eyes, he can see Raven manhandling Erik out of the room.

She returns shortly having successfully kicked Erik out. There's still a muffled anger in her head, her skin two shades darker and her eyes are a flaming gold. Raven locks the door behind her and placing her hands on her hips she asks in a tone that means all business, 'Now, where were we?’

Like a metal lock can keep Erik out. Charles swallows his chuckle.

-


	2. Addicted to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of married cherik with a side of dadneto & loads of fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tumblr **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/160795592448/cherik-ficlet-2)**

         It's his bloody associate's fault. All of this is. When he thought that those idiots could handle a high profile case, he should have thought harder. Maybe the feeling would have passed. 

There's a monstrous headache housed in one side of his head. Migraine, he remembers. He’s been working for sixteen hours straight and not slept in what feels like days. He hates leaving the calm confines of his office. The calm helps him think. 

Instead, he's in the bullpen. Working his way through a crooked stack of files. Transporting files and people responsible for them to and from his office a few floors up had seemed like a waste of time. Thankfully, the din that envelopes the bullpen had reduced to a low murmur on his arrival. 

Every time an intern would approach him offering food, he would simply look at them and they would scamper away. If Emma would classify his looks as office harassment, well… it was her prerogative. 

Erik itches for a cigarette. He can't concentrate without it. His mind whirls with the raging headache. He's drained two ounces of coffee already and it hasn't helped. Back when he used to smoke and were he to be still in office at this time, he would sneak out for a quick fag.

Now, he simply looks longingly at the smoking lounge towards his right. He had gone cold turkey when he had quit. It was tougher than he had thought. He can see two or three people through the glass doors, framing the metal railing and puffing white smoke into the chill air. He doesn't have a cigarette  on him. But he could always borrow. Charles always pesters him to befriend people. Maybe tobacco could become the medium. 

His attention is drawn back to his desk where his mobile chimes with a text. Sighing, he opens it to find that it is from Charles. It simply says,  _ left outer pocket of your coat. _

He immediately reaches for his coat, draped on the back of his chair and retrieves what appears to be a pack of nicotine gums.  _ Quit if for the children Love _ , Charles had said. 

With a sudden clarity of mind, Erik puts the strip of gum back into its place, picks up his phone and heads for the balcony towards his left.

The natural air is refreshing, he fills his lungs with it and hits the call button. A picture of Charles plastered to the twins on either side appears on the screen. The trio are grinning and at him and without him realising, Erik is smiling as well.

'Hello. ’

'Hello Husband! ’ He can feel Charles’ smile just through his voice. 'Did you find the gum?’

'Yes. ’

'Did you use them? ’

'No. ’

'Where are you? ’

'The bullpen. Thankfully, Az is handling the others. ’

Charles’ voice is smug when he says, 'Good. It helps build team morale to know that you have their backs if need be.’ 

Charles’ voice is better than any expensive coffee, he could drink it in all day and still long for more.

'What are the twins doing? ’

'Watching cartoons. ’

'What are you doing? ’

'Watching cartoons with them. ’

A smile  blooms on his face. 'Of course you are, ’ he hears himself saying.

'Now go and finish whatever work you were in the middle of. ’

'Why? ’ Erik asks dumbly.

'So that you get back to us as soon as possible love. ’

And that is motivation enough.

Turns  out that he doesn ’t need tobacco to clear his mind, talking to Charles works just as well.

-


	3. Anniversaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cherik on their 25th anniversary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tumblr **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/166641465548/anniversaries-warning-aimless-story-and-excessive)**

          ‘Spill.’

‘Excuse me?’ Charles looks up from his newspaper while Raven flops down on the kitchen chair unceremoniously. 

‘Something is worming its way through your head. So spill,’ she says throwing her legs over the kitchen table and crossing them at the ankles. 

Charles scoffs. ‘And you know that because…’

‘... Because your face is like this-’ She scrunches her brows into deep valleys and trains her sight to the tip of her nose causing her pupils to stick to the inner edges of her eye sockets, all the while chewing on her bottom lip. She’s exaggerating, of course. There’s no way Charles would have looked  _ that _ comical. ‘So spill.’

Charles sighs dropping the newspaper fully on the table and removes his glasses. She’s going to pull the information out of him by hook or crook. Might as well give it to her when she asks and save both of them the trouble.

‘It’s silly,’ he begins, the confession eliciting a scoff from his sister.

‘And since when has  _ that  _ stopped you from over thinking?’ she quips. Charles knows that she’s teasing, but that doesn’t stop him from picking an apple from the fruit bowl and throwing it in her direction. Much to his chagrin, she catches it from the air with a triumphant grin.

‘You know that I met Erik on a beach in Israel. Don’t you?’

‘Yes. You met him in his natural habitat. How could I not?’ She smirks around a bite of the fruit.

Charles ignores her allusion to Erik’s shark-like grin and continues, ‘Well, it was today, twenty five years ago. And every year since then, I have woken up to a note written by him. Nothing big; it’s always a little piece of paper declaring that he’ll never forget the day he met me. But this year… today…’ he trails off. Opposite to him, he can feel Raven’s mind mulling over a reply, her gaze stuck to a spot on a side wall.

Twenty-five years of companionship, marriage and a school built and run together for mutants and he’s upset over a little note; especially when Erik hasn’t had an hour to spare since the last two weeks trying to juggle classes and supervise the renovations of the mansion’s west wing. Abashed by his silliness, he clears his head and changes tracks. 

‘I was just seventeen when I met him, Raven. He was irresistible. Witty, funny and handsome, a triple threat. I couldn't keep my hands off him.’ A smile blossoms on his face with the memory. ‘We used to talk day and night, about anything; everything. What drew me to him was not his body or mind, but his heart. And before I even knew it, I was head over heels in love with him... I still am.’ 

‘Aha.’ Raven nods her head rescinding her legs from the table to slouch on the chair. ‘I bet you are, now that you look like one of your love-struck students.’

‘Take that back!’ Charles demands, feeling the heat rise up his cheeks.

‘I speak the truth and nothing but it.’

The banter continues as one by one, the students slowly begin to filter through the kitchen door.

*

Occupied that he is with his own classes, Charles doesn’t see or hear from Erik until midday.

_ I’m heading for town, I need to look over some supplies. Don’t wait up for dinner,  _ Erik sends into his mind when he’s in the middle of teaching igneous rock formation to a bunch of uninterested ten-year olds.

Sighing, he sends back:  _ Drive safe, darling. Bye. _

When Charles retreats to his room after the last of his classes are over, there’s a lilac cardigan splayed on his side of the bed. The wool is soft to the touch. It's the finest Pashmina, he realises; and hand knit at that. In the place of a price tag is a note that reads:  _ Twenty-five years and you're still teaching me new ways of being happy. Thank you! _

A carefree laugh breaks out of Charles’ throat and he hugs the cardigan to his chest as a substitute for Erik. 

*

It’s almost midnight by the time Erik returns from town and slips beneath the covers.

‘I’m sorry, I was late-’ he begins to say, only to be stopped by a bruising kiss from Charles. 

_ Thank you for the gift, darling,  _ Charles sends to his mind while sucking on his tongue. 

‘The lady whom I bought it from said that I could exchange it if you didn’t like the colour,’ Erik says when they part for air.

Snuggling further into his arms, Charles whispers over his lips with a dopey smile, ‘Somethings in life, my love, are unexchangeable.’

-


	4. Kiss Your Darlings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cherik and first kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tumblr **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/164751533313/kiss-your-darlings)**

          Charles stills. 'What’s wrong?’ he asks, taking a step back and dropping his hands from Erik's face.

Erik looks hesitant, brows furrowed and his flat lips pressed further into a thin line.

Erik is the most confident man Charles knows, be it in movement or thought. He's straightforward and presses on without a sliver of doubt in his mind. This image of Erik however, is befitting him- uncertain and _unsure_.

'I’m not used to this,’ Erik says staring at the thick oak door to his left as if contemplating flight.

_ This?  _ Had Charles misread the situation? Had Erik not been interested in him during all those days spent together travelling across the country and finding mutants? He wouldn't have pulled Erik into an empty room in the middle of training like a love-struck teenager otherwise. 

A ghastly fear flows through him. Was the warmth in Erik's lingering gazes on him a fragment of his imagination? A child of his fantasies? Was his approach unwelcome? Was  _ he  _ unwelcome?

The flare of desire in his mind sours and Charles quickly retreats his hands to lock behind him while his legs carry him away from Erik. He stops when his back hits a wall. Unable to fix his eyes on Erik's twisted face, Charles trains his sight to the gold rimmed oil portrait of Richard Xavier hanging on the wall behind. His great Grandfather's blue eyes bore down on him reproachfully. 

'Why did you back off?’ Erik asks, and when Charles forces his sight back on Erik, the latter's face is still twisted.

Charles winces. 'I can't begin to apologise, my friend,’ he says, voice strained into a plea, 'I thought that the interest was mutual. If only had I known that this isn't what you wanted, I would have stayed aw-’

'-Urgh,’ Erik groans, cutting Charles’ frantic apology. 'You’re just as bad as me. Aren't you?’ He huffs, a side of his mouth lifting up crookedly in dry amusement. 'For somebody who prides on knowing everything, you are just as clueless as I am.’

'Oh,’ Charles says dumbly for the lack of a response. While it's a relief that Erik hadn't fled the minute he had stepped back, he still doesn't know what to make of this situation he's gotten himself into. Maybe Erik is right. Maybe he doesn't know as much as he claims to.  

The amusement fades from Erik's features and a seriousness replaces it. 'What I meant to say is that I'm not used to this.’ Erik motions his hand between the two of them as if it's explanation enough. 

'This?’ Charles parrots, cursing internally at the instability in his voice. 'As in… intimacy with men?’ Charles had feared as much. It certainly does justify Erik's behaviour.

Erik groans again. 'No Charles! I've fucked enough people before- men and women, if that's what you're meaning to ask.’

Charles’ face heats at Erik's bluntness.

'I meant,’ says Erik, the air and confidence with which he had uttered his previous statement lost to the wind. 'I meant that I'm not used to…’ He uncharacteristically ducks his head and mutters: ‘kissing.’

'Oh!’ relief floods through Charles. Erik looks uncertain and unsure saying it, but Charles realises that he doesn't mind at all because a beautiful blush engulfs Erik's face. 

'That can be fixed. I'm quite experienced in that area,’ Charles provides with a fond smile. His mind urges him to close the distance between them and prove to Erik as much, but he stays rooted to the spot, giving Erik the space; lest he scare Erik for real this time.

Clearing his throat, Erik slowly walks towards him, his eyes stopping everywhere but on his face. With awkward moves and hesitant touches, Erik gets his hands between the wall and Charles’ back while Charles slowly loops his arms around Erik's neck and stays. It's Erik who draws him in. 

The first brush of lips is quick and chaste, too chaste, in fact, for Charles’ liking. And when they pull back, they gaze into each other's eyes before dissolving into nervous giggles.

Charles smears his sweaty palms on Erik's broad shoulders. This is like his first kiss all over again- fumbling timidly in an Oxford dorm. 

The second kiss however, takes Charles by surprise, for Erik coaxes Charles’ lips to part and slips his tongue into his mouth in a sinuous glide. Charles moans at the contact and tightens his arms around Erik's shoulders, drawing the latter further into his arms. Like everything else the man does, Erik kisses him with acute concentration, like Charles is a problem to be dealt with. That thought alone makes Charles whimper into Erik's mouth. 

In sharp contrast to the insistent swipes of Erik's tongue in his mouth, the metal bender rubs his wide palm on the small of his back in gentle circles. The action is so distrait that Charles’ heart weighs a little more in his chest.

When they part for air, Charles has to remind himself to breath. If Erik hadn't held him firmly, he's sure his wobbly knees would have given out.

'That was-’ Charles says between drawing lungfuls of air, 'amazing!’

'Really?’ Erik asks, face etched in genuine disbelief and hope. Erik's expression is so raw and open and miles away from his stern self that Charles wants to kiss him again just for it. Instead, he projects the still lingering dizziness in his mind to Erik. 

Erik's hands tighten around his back and a bright blush spreads across his face. Of course, Erik lacks finesse and patience, but there is nothing that can't be perfected with practice.

'Practice. Yes,’ Erik parrots, 'I should be practising.’ Oh dear, he still must be projecting then.

Charles tip-toes and leans further into Erik. 'I can help you with that,’ he whispers hotly against Erik's ear and revels in the shiver that runs down the latter's back. 

Beyond Erik's head, he locks eyes with his great Grandfather. Grinning, Charles winks and pulls Erik down for another dizzying kiss.

Richard Xavier watches mutely as the sounds of moans and pants devour the room.

-


	5. Scream Your Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for bocje-ce-ustu’s prompt: “I bet I can make you scream my name”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tumblr **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/169779863513/94-cherik-please)**

          Erik senses, more than sees, the metal of Charles’ chair entering the room. He perks up at the sight of the telepath and sits a little straighter on his inclined bed.

Charles stills at the door, and a shuddering breath escapes his lips. He must be unconsciously projecting, because a strong wave of worry washes over Erik. It’s hardly like last time, where Erik had lost a considerable amount of blood and drifted in and out of consciousness for a few days. In comparison, this is just a…  minor inconvenience at most. Flesh wounds, really. He wouldn't have considered being restricted to a hospital bed if it hadn’t been for Mystique threatening him with actual murder.  _ It’s alright,  _ he tries to project his assurance to Charles, but the painkillers clouding his blood plague the attempt.

‘Hi,’ he says instead. A lazy smile spreads across his face and pulls on the cut on his lip unpleasantly.

Charles wordlessly wheels to the left side of the bed, where the damage is maximum. The glazed blue eyes roam over Erik’s exposed ribs, taking in the array of attached wires and cords, the heart rate monitor spiking quietly in sync with his pulse, the length of his bruised shoulder and the rather severe cut that sweeps his forearm.

‘How are you feeling?’ Charles asks finally, concern dancing across his features. A current of unrest still lingers in the air. He’s so close that Erik can smell the sweet cologne on Charles’ person. The fragrance is comforting.

‘I’m  fine,’ he answers shrugging a shoulder. The action stings his muscles with a sharp pain, and an involuntary wince twists his face. 

Charles sighs. ‘What were you thinking-’ he begins, but Erik is quick to cut him. ‘They were children, Charles! Children, who were kept captive and experimented upon. What did you expect me to do?’ Anger, rejuvenated, sprouts inside him at the memory. He tries to sit up fully on the bed, as if to emphasise his point, only to be prevented by the tangle of wires.

‘I know that, Erik,’ Charles says, ‘I gathered that much from the news. All I’m saying is that you could have at least waited for backup. What were you thinking going in there alone? I don’t think your mutation involves upholding a crumbling concrete ceiling.’ The telepath’s voice is even, matching his for every word, but Erik doesn't miss the weariness lacing it.

‘The kids got out fine. That’s more important. Isn’t it?’ Erik provides clumsily. 

‘It is.’ Charles’ lips twitch upwards and a warmth fills his eyes. ‘Where are they now?’

‘In the Base.’ The Brotherhood have neither the means nor the supplies to keep them for long. ‘I’ll tell Az to drop them at the mansion. They’ll be safe with you.’ At Charles’ widened eyes, he quickly adds: ‘Only if that’s acceptable to you, of course.’

‘It is.’ Charles reaches forward and places a warm hand on Erik cheek, gently rubbing an old scar trailing his brow. ‘Just- Just think before you incapacitate yourself next time, alright?’ 

Erik scoffs. ‘Incapacitated? Hardly.’ He leans into the touch, careful of the wires and says, ‘Even like this, I bet I can raid two covert mutant experimentation facilities, antagonise three governments and single-handedly fight those ludicrous Avengers.’ His eyes drop to the red of Charles’ lips and he whispers, low and deep: ‘And even like this, I bet I can make you scream my name.’

Erik watches smugly as a bright red engulfs Charles’ face and hides under the collar of his shirt. Grinning, he leans fully and takes Charles’ mouth in a sweet kiss. Kissing Charles has always been a novelty to Erik. But it’s even more so with Charles’ tongue running soothingly along the cut of his lip. A hand travels to knot in Erik’s hair and a calm envelopes them; only to be disrupted by Charles, who, without preamble, bites down hard on the wound to draw blood.

‘ _ Charles! _ ’ Erik screams into Charles’ mind and the telepath grins against his mouth.

-


	6. Texting is the New Sexting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for aksanata’s prompt: “A flash of anger”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tumblr **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/174506358068/cherik-x)**

          Charles receives a text message on his personal phone from an unknown number in the middle of his class. With the school’s phone line serving as his primary contact, not many people knew about its existence. He ignores it for the time, in favour of viewing it after school hours. 

That, somehow, happens at the end of his day, when he’s getting ready for bed.

**Unknown number:** What were you thinking when you sang praises of that God-awful Mutant Registration Bill? That’s hideous and you know it.

Charles doesn’t have to guess who the sender is though it leaves the question as to how the Metalbender acquired his private number prone to guessing. 

**You:** So is your cape. I don’t see the point here.

The response is almost immediate. As though the Metalbender was meditating in front of the phone waiting for Charles’ reply.

**Unknown number:** Don’t you dare make this personal,  Charles.

Hackles rise in Charles’ throat. Normally Charles isn’t the one to anger  quickly-- in fact, he isn’t the one to get angry at all, even after dealing with a school full of  teanagers-- but something about Erik puts him on edge. All the time.

**You:** Personal? It’s you who is texting me on my private number, and you accuse me of making it personal?

**Unknown number:** You left me with no choice.

How dare Erik accuse  _ him _ ? It was Erik who broke things between them the last time \-- for the fifth time in a row.

**You:** Excuse me. I didn’t leave you with a choice?!

**Unknown number:** Did you even hear your own words in that speech you gave, Charles? Who fed you those words? That new chum of yous from the government? What was his name again? Jonathan something… He has been of great help to you, hasn’t he, judging by the way he was drooling all over you?

**You:** You're crossing the line, Erik.

**Unknown number:** And you're the one to talk about my cape, when you walk around wearing that gold vest of yours.

**You:** What's wrong with my vest? 

Charles had received a lot of compliments over the accused piece of clothing.

**Unknown number:** It's unflattering on you.

**You:** And what exactly makes  _ you  _ the authority over what's flattering on me and what's not.

This time the response comes with a delay.

**Unknown number:** That fact that I know things about you that others don't.

**You:** Is that the case? Pray do tell me what you know that others don't.

**Unknown number:** There’s a mole in the junction of your left arse cheek and thigh.

Charles’ ears burn a bright red. He can clearly imagine the smirk on Erik’s face as he’s typing it. He wasn’t expecting Erik to play dirty. Alright, two can play this game.

**You:** And you go commando under that suit. So?

**Unknown number:** You like your hair pulled during sex. 

**You:** That was just once!

**Unknown number:** Just once? Whom are kidding, Charles? What about that time in Washington? That time on the washing machine? Or that time on your desk? You surely couldn’t have forgotten all those times. 

**You:** You like me brushing your hair with my fingers. 

**Unknown number:** You like being bitten. You like my teeth. You like being bitten on your throat.

It’s like Erik isn’t even reading his responses.

**Unknown number:** And you like my mouth, you like it on your nipples. You like me to suck it, lick it.  Mmmmn . You’d like me to tease you with my mouth, wouldn’t you? You’d then want my mouth on your naval… Do you want me to go on,  old friend?

Charles groans. He wants to be mad at Erik, mad for contacting him after all this while only to accuse him of sleeping with someone else, mad for not even apologising once for being a giant prick. But despite himself, he’s beginning to get aroused. He can already imagine Erik’s clever mouth on him. 

**You:** Don’t flatter yourself too much, Erik. 

**Unknown number:** Tell me Charles, did anyone of your Oxford chums kiss you like me? Did they fuck you like me? Does Jonathan make you scream like me, does he make you beg him like me?

Anger wells up within Charles. 

**You:** First of all, there's nothing going on between Jonathan and me. Secondly, I don’t scream your name, or beg you for that matter.

**Unknown number:** Really, Charles? Do you want me to prove it to you?

Erik might be right, but he sure isn’t going to admit it. He wouldn’t let Erik win.

**You:** For God’s sake, Erik. Stop gloating and get here. Let’s see who’s right!

**Erik:** On my way,  old friend. Wouldn’t miss a chance to prove you wrong for the world.

With that, Charles jabs the red button on his phone with far more vehemence than required and throws it in the general direction of the bed. His chest heaves with an inexplicable mix of anger and arousal. He’ll see how Erik will win this one.

*

Later that night when he’s sated blissfully, and Erik is snoring softly behind him, Charles realises something that has him bursting into laughter. Thankfully, Erik doesn’t stir as Charles turns in his arms and places a gentle kiss on Erik’s forehead. For Charles realises that the most wanted and feared terrorist in the northern hemisphere just answered his booty call. 

He fondly kisses Erik’s forehead and whispers over his lips, ‘I love you, you crazy man.’

-


	7. Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for pinkoptics’ prompt: “Subtle kindnesses”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hades and Persephone (Greek Mythology) AU  
> Posted on Tumblr **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/174792024713/d-subtle-kindnesses)**

Destiny never changes, they said. She spared no one, looming over Gods and mortals alike. The pasts, presents and futures of all the three worlds swirled like hot crimson gases behind her milky white eyes. Sometimes she brought prosperity in abundance and some other times, she wreaked havoc. Whatever her path, she never faltered; her course never altered.

Destiny was always right.

So powerful was she that the great Olympian himself had bowed before her, naming her the chief of his council.

'You’re lucky, Charles,’ she had told him once when he was a boy. ‘You're destined to lead a life filled with love. It'll be poetic,' she had said. Her aery white eyes were directed upwards-- as though there was a greater Heaven above them-- but there had been a gentle smile on her lips. ‘Your husband will be a kind and considerate man.’

Charles had rejoiced then-- because destiny was always right. He had believed her words, imbibed and had grown with them. _Love_ , she had said. When the nights were pleasant and the wind whistled a gentle tune, Charles would roll on the cerulean silk pulling soft petals out of thin air. _Husband_ , she had said. How would he look? What would he be a God of? What realms would he control? Charles would wonder, and smile.

_Love_ , Charles reminisces Destiny's words when he's being married off to the God of the Underworld, and laughs bitterly. Marriage would be a gentle word for an act so cruel, for his marriage was not out of love, but punishment for falling in love with a God below his ranks.

Destiny was wrong.

The Underworld is no place for love; no place for kindness. It’s harsh and cold and dark. The castle is high, the walls charred and the minars long and sharp. Souls screech and yell for mercy, begging to be ferried to the other side. Rains roar and thunder every night, yet, come morning, dark clouds cover the skies and poison the air.

The God of the Underworld is dangerous, tall and imposing. The lines of his face are sharp and angled. A grey veil constantly covers the void of his eyes, and everything he touches turns to ash.

Charles’ marriage is not poetic. Ironic maybe. A comedy, perhaps. _The God of Life married to the God of Death._

Destiny was wrong.

A knock on the door pulls Charles out of his thoughts, and when he bids the messenger in, a young boy with a head full of red hair appears through the doors with a scroll in his hands-- Sean is his name, if Charles remembers well.

'The Kings says that this is for you.’ Sean hands him the scroll and flees from his presence before Charles can thank him.

_Charles,_ the scroll says when he opens it.

_I couldn't help but notice during dinners that your plates were sent untouched to the kitchens. I understand that the food here is not to your_ _liking_ _. I've hence appointed a cook who has previously served in the Olympian kitchens to my retinue. I hope it'll keep you from missing your home too much._

_Erik_

In the past three days that Charles had been married to Erik, they had always taken public dinners with various members of Erik's court-- for which Charles was only thankful for. He wouldn't have welcomed Erik in his private chamber-- but Erik had only turned towards him when introductions were necessary. Charles hadn't caught Erik's eyes on him otherwise. Maybe he’d failed to gauge Erik's attention, with how he had been preoccupied with the thoughts of his lover-- the sound of his laughter, the smell of his skin, the feel of his kiss.

Erik's letter is not elegant-- how it would have been on Paradise. The paper is coarse, the Olympian broken, and the letters crooked. There are no pleasantries shared, and no endearments given. The letter is terse, but the sentiment behind it-- Charles hopes-- is genuine. Honest.

Charles isn't married to his lover, and maybe he'll never learn to love Erik. Maybe his life will never be filled with love. Maybe Destiny wasn't right.

_Your husband will be a kind and considerate man,_ her words ring in Charles’ ears as the letter rocks gently with the wind in the cradle of his arms. Outside the window, the dark sky threatens to thunder and pour.

Maybe Destiny wasn't completely wrong after all.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S: Destiny was right, because Charles falls irrevocably in love with Erik! :D


	8. Love is Deaf, Dumb and Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for acherik’s prompt: “When words aren’t enough”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> deaf+dumb!Erik + autistic!Charles  
> Posted on Tumblr **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/174602503878/cherik-with-j)**

           Magda had been in love once. Once when she was young and wasn't Mrs. David Maximofff. She had fallen in love with a boy from the hills. His father worked at the Xavier Manor as a driver and his mother, the head cook.

Erik Lehnsherr was his name, tall and lean-muscled. Erik couldn't hear, speak, read or write. But he had a fast brain and a quick wit. He had eyes of quicksilver that yelled 'troublemaker’. And like nails to a magnet, she was pulled towards him. But what had stolen Magda’s heart was his innocent soul and carefree smile. She'd been in love with Erik Lehnsherr then-- and probably never fell out.

'Love's not everything in life, Magda,’ her mother had told her, ‘Think about it.’

She had, and chosen David.

Sometimes, when her heart's heavy and days woeful, she wonders if her Erik will ever come into her life again

When her Erik does come into her life again many years later, he doesn't come alone. He comes along with Charles Xavier, the boy who had abruptly disappeared from the Xavier Manor after his mother remarried Kurt Marko following his father's demise. Magda had heard the rumours. Noone spent time over the lost autistic boy. They'd simply presumed him dead-- it was convenient that way.

While she waits for Erik to usher her in into the small room he calls home, through the window, she can see Erik helping Charles into a shirt and carding his fingers through Charles’ hair to style it. After buttoning the cuffs, Erik holds his right thumb to his jaw and rolls the other four fingers over his face. When Erik does usher her in, Charles stands behind Erik warily, twisting his fingers. He's about Magda’s age, but his floppy hair and big blue eyes still has him looking like a boy. The shirt he's wearing is Erik's-- it falls over his shoulders and pools over his wrists. Something in Magda breaks at the sight.

Erik nudges him to greet her, and the boy- Charles jerks his head in a nod without meeting her eyes.

Magda points to the two of them and gestures to her left ring finger. 'Married?’ she whispers, even though he can't hear her. More so because she doesn't want to hear the answer.

Erik blushes and shakes his head-- she hadn’t seen him blush once when he was with her. He points to him and Charles, draws a heart over his chest and crosses it. There's the same carefree grin on his face and quicksilver in his eyes as he mouths: love.

A sob escapes Magda and stumbles into a smile.

Her mother had told her once that the silence between Erik and her would silence their relationship. There are words between her and David, but their hearts are silent; their love incomplete.

Charles and Erik are incomplete in the world's eyes; there is only silence between them, but their love is complete.

Charles can’t speak much, the only word he chooses to say is: 'Ewik’. Charles had thought Erik to write, and the two words he can write are: 'Chawles’ and 'Ewik’.

Magda had loved Erik, yes, but she'd thought over it. Charles hadn't thought, he had just loved. Probably that's the reason he's making tea for her now with Erik by his side.

Erik is waving zealously behind her as she’s driving home, and Charles is clutching Erik's shirt tightly. Through the side mirror she can see the little fingers of both their spare hands linked together.

Sometimes, when her heart was heavy and days woeful, Magda had wondered if her Erik will ever come into her life again.

But when Erik did come into her life again, he wasn't hers anymore.

-


	9. Love- With or Without You (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for mnemo-ink’s prompt: “Post xmfc, when an Erik from another universe comes to the mansion, it seems of no consequence for him and Charles to have sex during his short stay in this world. They are both so lonely, they may as well enjoy this small thing they can have. Except that a few weeks after this Erik’s departure, Charles starts feeling sick. Or Charles is pregnant with another universe Erik’s baby and has no idea how to deal with it, especially when he has to face his world Erik again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tumblr **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/173038043518/mnemo-ink-post-xmfc-when-an-erik-from-another)**

          Charles looks at himself through the antique floor mirror. The tender morning sunlight, reflected off the rich mahogany, drowns his room in a golden hue.   
In the reflection everything is spick and span behind him. The night stand that had housed a calamity only a few weeks ago is clear now. The sofas and the armchairs at the far end of the room are dusted and the curtains are freshly laundered. 'Dust may cause allergies. We can't take that risk with you or… or...' Hank had trailed off, fussing with the sofa cushions.   
The low table which had withered under the weight of his personal bar is now bare. So is his bed, which is impeccably made. The bed. Charles glances at it sideways and gulps audibly.   
Charles shakes his head and trains his vision back to the mirror. His cheeks are fuller,  sans the beard \-- thanks to the dried apricots and cashews Hank is  forcing into his diet. The shortened mop of hair atop his head has grown enough to kiss the shell of his ears. If he ignores the few grey streaks lining his hairline, Charles almost looks like a version of himself three years ago. Three years ago when he was herding a bunch of teenagers into an abandoned mansion calling it home with a revenge-hungry Metalbender hot on his heels.

The flash of turtlenecks and leather jackets and lopsided smiles that accompany the memory forces Charles’ eyes to his midsection, where his stomach bulges visibly even under his thickest cardigan. The stretch of its form is obvious enough that Charles can't blame it on an excessive indulgence in sweets and pastries.

Charles sighs and brackets his stomach with both hands. There is no movement yet, but there will be; soon.

'Erik, ’ Charles starts haltingly, 'there is an explanation to this.’ He racks his brain for his next words, but they fail him fabulously. The truth is that there is no explanation to his situation, so the truth may be the best explanation he’s capable of providing. 'I know we hadn't defined our relationship. And I know that you would never…’ Never what? Stop me from moving on? Stop me from seeing others? That doesn't help the point Charles is trying to convey, so he evades that line of thought.

He tries again. 'I know we hadn't defined our relationship in any conventional manner, but I assure you that this is yours. ’ Charles takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly. His fingers clutch at the curve of his stomach, unconsciously seeking support. 'I assure that this is your child. Yours as in not  _ yours.  _ Yours as in a version of you. We never knew this was a possibility when we were together because we were always protected. But that night when you came back seeking forgiveness, I couldn't hold back, Erik. You were… you, as in, you from… I didn't know at the time, so it was you. Your body…’ Charles trails off.

The reality sounds so alien to even his ears that he probably would have a laughing fit if he would have been the audience to his words. 

How was Erik supposed to believe him when Charles couldn't believe his own words?

Charles’ thoughts are brought to a halt by a rasp of paws against the door and a hesitant mind behind it.

'Yes, Hank? ’ Charles turns to his left.

A furry blue head pops in through the crack in the door, and announces, 'Erik’s here. He’s waiting for you in your study. ’

-


	10. Love- With or Without You (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for mnemo-ink’s prompt: “Post xmfc, when an Erik from another universe comes to the mansion, it seems of no consequence for him and Charles to have sex during his short stay in this world. They are both so lonely, they may as well enjoy this small thing they can have. Except that a few weeks after this Erik’s departure, Charles starts feeling sick. Or Charles is pregnant with another universe Erik’s baby and has no idea how to deal with it, especially when he has to face his world Erik again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tumblr **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/174220393643/baby-from-an-othererik)**

_~5 months ago~_

        Charles opens his eyes to the warmth of a sea-green gaze. The tender morning light plays with the crests and troughs of Erik's irises creating a kaleidoscope of colours. A broad hand caresses the small if his back, the warmth and the motion lulling. Erik's lips curve in a gentle smile.   
Maybe if Charles closes his eyes now, he'll break out of this dream and wake up to an empty bed and suffocating loneliness. Maybe he'll wake up to reality.

He doesn’t.

‘Hello,' Erik says, bringing his other hand up to cup Charles’ cheek. Charles leans into the touch as Erik slowly rubs his thumb against the curve. 'You've lost weight,' Erik says after a while. His eyebrows crunch with displeasure.

Hackles rise within Charlie's chest. There’s so much he wants to say, to yell and shout: _I can't eat, you idiot. I can't sleep. I can't think, and sometimes I feel like I can't breathe. You took so much away from me, Erik. Not just my legs. My sister, our friendship, my heart._

But he doesn't. None of that matters now.

 _I've forgiven you_ , he had told Erik last night. And it's true. He had forgiven Erik even before   
the Metalbender had come banging on his door the previous night with guilt in his eyes and apologies on his lips.

'You've resumed smoking again,’ Charles says instead, moving further into Erik's warmth. 'Have you changed from your brand? I can't place it. It smells… exotic.'

Erik chuckles at that, and the sound reverberates around his cluttered room. ‘I've always had a flare for the exotic, Charles.' And when Charles huffs out a breath in disbelief, Erik continues, 'What? It’s true. I’ve always liked eyes blue as the tropical oceans, lips redder than the wildest cherries... I’ve always had a flare for the exotic.’  
Charles chuckles despite himself, 'Who are you, and what have you done with my friend?'   
Erik searches his face for a small eternity, and asks softly, 'Don’t you like this romantic side of me?'

Charles would have, perhaps, a lifetime ago. He always was a romantic at heart-- more so during his Orford years, when Raven and he would cuddle up on winter evenings to watch trashy romantic movies. He'd dreamt of a love then, gentle as the rhythmic waves washing against the smooth sand beaches, as beautiful as roses on a fresh spring day, as warm as a kindled fire under the starry night. But when Charles found love, it came in like a tempest, sweeping him into its arms without warning and drowning him under its strength. And his lover was not a kindled fire, but the Sun itself, bright and powerful and magnetic, pulling him effortlessly into its orbit. Charles had only been a helpless rock who'd flown too close to the sun. It's almost comical how, even now, the shattered pieces of his core tumble and reorient themselves towards Elk.  
He places a hand on Erik's heartbeat and smiles softly. ‘Maybe, but I prefer the grumpy Erik; the real Erik.’

At that, something in Erik changes, his faces closes, and the smile fades from his features. He searches Charlie's face for a long moment before saying, ‘Charles, you know that I must leave, don't you?'

A little of Charles dies on hearing the words. He'd known that Erik wouldn't stay, that Erik would always stray from his orbit, that he'll never be able to pull Erik like Erik pulls him. But a treacherous voice inside his mind had whispered: _hope_ . He feels foolish now; naïve even, for venturing to revel in fantasies. Charles frantically hopes that all this is a dream, that he'll wake up to a reality where Erik hadn't kissed him and made love to him, where his kisses didn't taste like promises and his thrusts didn't feel like wows, so that the remnants of his heart doesn't burn up in flames.   
He doesn't.   
Bile rises up in his throat, 'Can't or won't, Erik?' he asks.

Erik meets his gaze steadily, and says, ‘Can't.’

-


	11. The Mummy AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for mnemo-ink’s prompt: “I’ve never killed anyone before”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Mummy AU (A/O/B Dynamics)  
> -with En-Sabah-Nur as the resurfaced King  
> Pairings: cherik, charlespocalypse  
> Warnings: Attempt at Non-Con, Bondage
> 
> Posted on Tumblr **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/179457478313/from-the-prompt-list-7-ive-never-killed-anyone)**

         Charles struggles against the thick bands of silk tied around his wrists and ankles. It's surprisingly strong for something so delicate. Twin points of pleasure bloom in Charles’ chest when the bands tied around his bare torso rub against his nipples. A definitive wetness has begun to gather around his groins, dampening the flimsy white cotton tied around his waist. Heat is pricking his skin around beads of sweat. His telepathy flickers and strains when he tries to stretch it.

Fuck. He's going into heat.

Charles groans.

'It'll be over soon, my Love,’ En-Sabah-Nur says, removing his white crown and placing it at the foot of the altar. His bald head gleams under the rich fire-light like desert sand under the midday sun.

Charles in the same room he was pulled into before his son and-

'David…’ Charles gasps. He tries to sit up, only to be stopped by bands of sand binding to cover his forearms. Fear clogs in his heart.

‘David,’ he shouts. There's no reply. 'What did you do to my son? If anything happens to him, I swear, I won’t leave you alive.’

En-Sabah-Nur doesn't reply, head bowed over the altar, eyes closed and lips moving in a silent prayer.

Charles looks frantically around the room, straining his neck awkwardly, for any means of escape, any mind he can trick into releasing him. Though there are four guards standing at the two entrances of the circular room, Charles can't reach their minds. It's shut off to him.

'Where is my son?’ he shouts again. His voice echoes around the walls of the circular dome that stretches to touch the sky above him. 'Where is my husband?’ His voice wavers at the end, the probability of losing them real and poignant.

If only he can see Erik one more time, he’ll apologise profusely for dragging him into this chaos and tell him that he was right; that his intuition was right. The memory of goading Erik to accompany him to Genosha is still fresh in Charles’ memory.

> _‘Come on_ _’_ _, he had said, draping himself over Erik’s lap. ‘You’ve been working way too hard. Your firm can live without you for a month. It’s going to be fun.’_
> 
> _Erik had laughed at his petulance. ‘Only you can call digging around the desert for pots and pans fun, Charles. Besides, what do you even know about this excavation apart from what Hank brought in last week. The place looks… weird. Call it Alpha intuition, but something doesn’t feel good about it.’_
> 
> _Charles had rolled his eyes. ‘First of all, that’s how all archaeological excavation sites look. Secondly, It’s more than an archaeological site. There’s a resort joint to its periphery. It’s going to be good for us as a family. When was the last time the two of us went out after David’s birth,_ _hmm_ _?’_
> 
> _Charles had ground down on Erik when he had still looked uncertain and purred in his ear, ‘Please, Erik. For me.’_
> 
> _Erik had laughed, pulling him further into his lap, and had said fondly, ‘You’re going to be the death of me, Charles.’_
> 
> _‘I am,’ Charles had agreed and pulled Erik down on the sofa._

Oh, how he wishes he could take his words back.

Just the thought of Erik heats up his skin further and the wetness between his legs intensifies. His head swims and floats, unable to concentrate.

‘Where is my Alpha?’ Charles shouts again, forcing himself to focus.

En-Sabah-Nur lifts his head up at that, his kohl-lined eyes blinking once. ‘Right in front of you, my love,’ he says. He picks up a goblet from the table in front of him and sips once from it.

‘What have you done to my son and husband?’ Charles spits out the words. Erik had been hit on the head and David pulled away from him. What if…? Just the thought makes him giddy.

‘Please…’ he begs, mindless of how helpless he sounds. ‘Please kill me if you wish, but leave my David and Erik alone. Please don’t harm them. Please…’ His words cut off around a hitch.

‘Kill you?’ En-Sabah-Nur walks around the table towards Charles. One of his hands come to tangle in Charles’ hair. Charles flinches at the touch, turning away. En-Sabah-Nur’s musk is overbearing and pungent. ‘I’ve never killed anyone before, my love, and I’m certainly not going to start with you. The River Gods have given you back to me only now. I can’t lose you again.’

‘What do you want from me then?’ Charles says, half spitting the words at En-Sabah-Nur’s face.

The Alpha-Mutant chuckles calmly. ‘You always did have a wild spirit. I had loved that about you then. I’m glad that it hasn’t changed.’ The fingertips of his other hand trail over Charles’ left leg and slip into the opening in the waistband, massaging Charles's groins and spreading his slick. ‘I don’t want anything _from_ you, Charles. I want you. To be in you. I want to give you children, my love. Children who’ll rule over these lands.’

Charles thrashes his hands and legs futilely, unable to dislodge En-Sabah-Nur’s hand on him. ‘Don’t touch me,’ he yells. ‘Don't you dare touch me, you bloody maniac-’

His struggles get cut off as En-Sabah-Nur’s hand lands on his forehead. ‘Rest now, my love. All will be revealed when you wake up.’

No… No… He can’t sleep now. Not now. He can’t

His eyes close of their own accord just as a cloud of black bursts in front of him.

-


	12. An Aladdin AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for akasanata’s prompt: “I have contemplated becoming a hermit”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tumblr **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/179488933618/cherik-17)**

           ‘Please, Charles,’ Raven begs, ‘Just a few hours. Nobody will find out.’

‘Mother will be very cross, Raven. I don’t think it’s a good idea,’ Charles says, turning yet another page of the thick book on his lap.

‘She’ll be cross only if she finds out. We’ll be back much before that.’  She huffs out a breath when Charles doesn’t answer. Her blue scales ruffle, gleaming in the tender morning sun, the way it does when she’s of a sour mood. ‘Don’t you get bored cooped up in this room, reading those books day in and day out?’ A grimace accompanies her words, pointed more at the four piles of books heaped on the low _Diwan_. 

‘No,’ Charles admits easily. ‘I’ve contemplated becoming a hermit, and I’ve realised that I quite like the idea.’

Raven groans and crosses the room in three long strides to crouch in front of him. ‘That’s because you’ve not seen the  _ Bazaars _ ,’ she says, closing the book on Charles’ lap and dropping it on the nearest pile. It wobbles in her hands and sits precariously on the pile. ‘Oh, it’s beautiful, Charles. I’ve seen it. It’s filled with colour and people. There’s not a thing you won’t find there- from lamps to fruits, and from carpets to jewellery. You’ll love it, I’m sure.’

Charles chews on his lower lip. Mother will not call for them until lunch, which gives them plenty of time to venture into the city and come back. Still, he hesitates.

‘How about this? If you don’t like the experience, I promise I won’t force you the next time,’ Raven says. Her golden eyes —  which are always sharp and calculating —  are looking up at him imploringly. He huffs out a breath. ‘Fine,’ he acquiesces. ‘Only this once.’

‘Great!’ Raven hops on her heal and sets out to get ready.

A Prince cannot simply walk into a bazaar full of people, Charles realises. Though he’s not as popular as Kurt or Cain when it comes to court politics, and only rarely seen in the public  _ Darbar _ , there’s always the risk of someone recognising him. While Raven can shape-shift and blend into the crowd with her gifts, Charles isn’t so lucky. He has to dress as a commoner to hide his princely stature. 

Charles dons on a white cotton tunic which fully covers his arm. It’s August, and the sun is still strong, he doesn’t want to risk a burn. He pulls on a pair of airy  _ pyjamas  _ and a vest on top of his tunic. Tying a turban over his head would require Moira’s help, which would lead her to questioning the purpose. It’s best if no-one knew of their absence. 

Raven walks into the room as Charles is fighting with the white length of cotton, half tangled in it and half threatening it into submission. Just cover you face with this, she says, throwing a bundled scarlet silk scarf at Charles' head. 

They head out of the  _ Mahal’s _ back door. Nudging the attention of a few guards on their way out is not all an impediment for a telepath like Charles. 

Charles had heard stories of the chaos at the bazaar, read it in books even. But none of those come close to the experience of being surrounded by a thousand buzzing minds. It’s an onslaught on all of his senses, and not at all  unpleasa ntly. The traders, vendors and customers are all immersed in trade, their minds sharp, focussed and fluid with a practised ease. The vibrant colours of fabrics, glass, fruits and rugs interrupt the jejune beige of the sand shop walls. The traders call out for customers, voices high and loud, endorsing their products creatively. The smell of fresh baked bread wafts in from somewhere, energising the taste buds in his mouth. 

Charles takes it all in keenly. He’s simmered down his telepathy to let the mob’s minds flutter against his conscious, like flies over a sweet stall.  

_ So you approve _ , Raven says from beside him into his mind. It’s not a question; charles must have been projecting then.

_ It’s not… bad _ , he agrees, and sends the impression of a smile her way.

‘I knew you’d like it!’ she says aloud, smiling triumphantly around a neat row of white teeth. Raven has taken the form of a dark-haired man with olive skin. She’s dressed similar to him, forgoing in the vest in favour of a loosely tied  scarf around her neck. 

Charles smiles at her, craning his head to meet her eyes a few inches above his own. 

They walk side by side like that, nudging and meandering around swathes of people. A light breeze blows through the interloping gaps in the canvas overhead. Though the clumsily wrapped silk over his face traps the desert heat, it’s not excessively stifling. 

‘Charles, look!’ Raven seizes his arm to  stop in front of a shop selling various kinds of daggers. ‘Come, let's take a look.’ 

‘You go in. I’ll stay here and look around.’

‘Fine.’ Raven rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like ‘bookworm’.

Charles chuckles and looks around. He pulls the scarf —  that has begun to slide down —  snug over his nose, leaving just his eyes his open to the steady breeze.

He spots a sweet stall two shops to his right. The sweets kept on display are nothing like what they make in the  _ Mahal.  _ He hasn’t even seen some of them. 

Licking his lips, he walks closer to take a better look. He’s always had a sweet tooth.

There’s a man behind the rows of arranged sweets. He’s a year or two older than Charles’ twenty-one— at most— with a chiseled jaw and pale grey eyes. His hair shines a rich copper when it catches the sun. Charles gapes at him, scandalised, for the man is dressed in nothing but a red vest over purple pyjamas that sit over a thin waist. His tanned skin ripples over lean muscles and the breadth of his shoulders compress when he comes to lean over the wooden plank. 

Realising that he’s been gaping, Charles clears his throat. 

‘What do you want?’ the man asks, his voice bored and his gaze wandering.

Right. He’s a customer. He should probably buy something. Charles looks over the array of sweets and settles over a cream square that looks like sweetened flour sprinkled with dry fruits.

‘How much for this one?’ he asks, pointing to the sweet. His voice comes out muffled through the layer of silk.

‘Two  virals for one and five  virals for three,’ comes the reply. 

Charles pads his hands around his empty pockets. Damn. He really hadn’t thought of carrying money.

He can feel the man’s eyes on him, judging. Embarrassed, he’s contemplating of ways to excuse himself when a strong gust of wind hits his face and unfurls the scarf from around it.  

Charles manages to catch the tail end of the scarf before being lifted off with the wind. It wouldn’t have mattered either way because the man behind the plank has caught on to the other end of the scarf and looking at Charles intensely, like a sand snake looks at its prey.

Has the man recognised him somehow? Charles quickly looks for the man’s thoughts only to be met with a blank mind. His thoughts are somehow closed off to him.

Charles swallows audibly and tries to tug the scarf away and flee from his presence, but the man holds onto his end of the scarf.

‘Are you from around here?’ the man asks, tilting his head speculatively.

‘Yes,’ Charles splutters. ‘I’m from around here.’

‘What’s your name?’

Charles blanches. He can’t tell his real name. He racks his brains for a name. Any name. ‘Francis,’ he tells at last, settling on his father’s middle name. 

‘Francis,’ the man repeats, more to himself than to Charles. The syllables sound odd around the man’s slight accent. Charles places it near the northern edges of the desert.

Charles looks around to see if anyone else has seen him. The surrounding people are too engrossed in business to look his way. He turns to the man and clears his throat, pulling on the scarf to free it from the man’s grasp.

The man grip doesn’t slack. Charles’ cheeks heat from indignation. ‘Excuse me,’ he says, pulling again.

The man smirks. ‘Why would you want to cover a face like that?’ he asks. His eyes burn bright in the shade of the canvas. Charles’ face heats to the tips of his hairs. The tie around his neck suddenly feels too tight. 

Before Charles can decide whether to be flattered or furious, a voice booms from the back of the shop, ‘Az, is that you at the front?’

The man turns towards the voice and curses. With the edge of the scarf still in hand, he bares one palm over the wooden plank and jumps over it. And before Charles can decipher what’s happening, the man places one hand over his mouth, the other gathers both of Charles’ wrists and the man pulls him into an adjoining alleyway. 

Charles thrashes against the hold, heart hammering in his chest. He can’t stop the man with his mind. The alleyway ends abruptly to their left, leaving him with no means of escape. He has to call Raven.  _ Raven _ , he shouts in her direction, hoping she hasn’t wandered elsewhere in search of him.

‘Relax, I’m not going to hurt you,’ the man says into his ear. He’s a good half feet taller than Charles and broader, leaving Charles with no option but to shrink in his hold. ‘If someone asks you, you didn’t see me at the shop, understand?’ the man asks. His breath is hot and damp against the exposed skin of his neck. 

Charles nods his head frantically against the man’s hold. 

The man removes his hand only to stuff Charles’ mouth with what he registers as a square piece of sweet. ‘See you around… Francis. I’m Max by the way, and this is for the  _ barfi _ _. _ ’ 

When the man releases him and heads off in the direction of the market, Charles realises that he has taken his scarf with him as well. _For the_ _barfi_ he had said. 

Raven comes running towards him moments later. ‘What happened?’ she asks between pants, alarmed and worried.

‘Nothing. Some thug. I’m fine,’ Charles assures her, straightening his vest and calming his wildly beating heart. ‘Come on, we better get going.’

They take a longer route to the Mahal, avoiding the crowded streets to minimise the risk of discovery. Despite that, they’re late for lunch. 

_ Max _ . Charles hisses under his breath.

-


	13. 21 Jump Street AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for unticka’s prompt: “Why are you/we whispering?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tumblr **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/180205519263/hi-jj-43-for-charles-and-erik-would-you)**

_            Why don’t you talk to Emma? _ Comes Azazel’s reply. 

Erik rolls his eyes. Like he hadn’t tried that option.

_ I tried, and she didn’t agree, Einstein. _ Erik responds. 

That, and because Erik’s fairly certain that Emma’s only goal in life sometimes is to see Erik suffer. Erik trusts his boss with his life, he just doesn’t trust her with his well-being.

_ I’m sure Genetics isn’t that bad.  _ Az responds. The ‘why don’t you give it a try’ is left implied.

_ We’re here to find the missing mutants and the douche bag responsible for it, not to obtain degrees, Az. Just ask the Dean if I can be shifted to Mathematics, alright? _

_ Alright. I’ll try. But Emma’s going to be pissed. _

That’s nothing new. Erik locks his phone and puts it into his pocket. The GPF’s phones come with jammers, so there’s no fear of  technopaths fishing for contents. 

If the last hour of Professor who-so-ever’s lecture was anything to go by, another hour of any other version of Genetics will make Erik go ballistic. What he told Az is true. They’re not here to obtain degrees and bag jobs, but at least dealing with numbers comes easier to Erik than dealing with theories. Erik like mutants. Studying about it, not so much. 

Moreover, Erik has never been the one for academia, really. He was known more for his protests and rallies for Mutant-equality and vandalism that came in its wake back when he was in  university than he was known for his grades. That didn’t matter anyway once he joined the police force. He was good at what he did— intimidating people and finding criminals. And soon enough he got selected into the Mutant Crime Division of the Genoshan Police Force. At just 27, he was the youngest to earn the badge of a detective. 

(Az doesn’t count. He was 27 and 5 months when he earned his badge)

But his struggles in the GPF (or his struggles in any other mission) is nothing (not in a million years) compared to his current undercover mission. 

He can’t forget the glee in Emma’s eyes when she’d explained their mission to them a few days ago. She knew all too well what she was pushing them into. ‘You couldn’t continue your education due to family emergencies,’ she had said pointing at Erik. ‘And, Az, you were in an accident right after high school, been in a recovery ever since, until now,’ she says pointing to Az. The paper works covering their alibis and their fake IDs (Erik’s usual Identity of Max Eisenhardt and Az’s, Beliar Valkomen) are spread out on the desk in front of them. ‘The two of you have now decided to complete your education and get yourselves a degree. Understood?’

Erik’s been on several undercover mission in his career, ranging from drug busts to high profile military operations, but none of those needed him to complete assignments, study for quizzes and befriend people half his age (well, almost half his age) to reap information, or God forbid,  _ party _ with the idiots.

7 Mutants. 7 mutants all gone missing within two weeks. The nature and pattern of all their kidnappings had pointed back to the Genoshan University. Someone with information of the students and their routine is responsible for the kidnappings, Erik’s sure of that. That narrows down his search to… well, the entire University. It could be anyone, from the Dean, Nathan Essex to any of the students, or even the Janitors he’e come across till now- Janos and Martha. 

Erik’s profiling the pattern of the latest missing in his head when a hand on his shoulder pulls him out of his thoughts. 

It’s Sean.

‘Hey, Max,’ he says, coming close to whisper in Erik’s ear. ‘We have Professor Shaw’s class after lunch. He had asked us all to carry a transcript of his latest paper on  _ Evolution,  _ and he gets really pissed when we don’t do as asked. So, here.’ He hands Erik a sheaf of papers bound by a spiral piece of plastic.

Alex  noogies Sean on the head, ‘Why are you whispering, dumbass? There’s no Professor in the class. Ms. McTaggart already left.’

Erik rolls his eyes. God, Millennials.

‘Right,’ Sean agrees sheepishly, pacifying his hair ruffled by the action. Turning to Erik, he says, ‘Anyway, Betsy there made an extra copy for you since you weren't here when Professor Shaw told us of it.’ Erik wants to tell him that he would already be in Mathematics by lunch time if Az plays his part right, but he wordlessly takes the copy. 

Betsy turns out to be a telekinetic with telepathic abilities. She winks at Erik, twirling a purple strand between her fingers when Erik turns to her. 

That’s his life now. Being hit upon by 19 years olds. 

Shuddering, he pulls his leather jacket closer to himself and turns to face the board. Emma places telepathic blockers in both their heads to prevent any telepaths peeking into their minds for information on every mission. At least, Betsy can’t catch his thoughts. 

He’s just in time to catch a man entering the class. At first, Erik thinks he’s a student. But no student would be wearing tweed or taking the podium in front of the black board. 

It’s the eyes that catches Erik’s attention first— bluer than the GPF’s uniforms. Surprisingly, the thick glasses that surround the said eyes somehow manage to accentuate their colour. Then are the lips. God, they’re redder than Az’s face. Two dark freckles dot the bridge on his nose. Upon closer inspection, countless others dust the pale skin on the apple of his cheeks. 

The world whirls in slow motion as the man begins to speak. Erik stares dumbly as the mild morning breeze ruffles the lush brown waves that frame his face. The thick cardigan— that would no doubt look stifling on others-- looks warm and comfortable on the man. The little pudge it hides is far more attractive than Erik expects to be. The man turns around towards the board, giving Erik a view of what he dubs as the ‘Hottest Ass that has graced the planet’. Even the ill fitting corduroy doesn’t hamper its form or beauty.

Suddenly, the man is walking towards him and those red lips are moving around a neat row of white teeth.

Erik shakes his head and jerks awake. 

‘Hello, I’m Dr. Charles Xavier,’ the man says with a smile. ‘I take Mutations. I assume you’re new to the class?’ The ma- Charles’  voice is rich and deep. The posh British accent is like music to Erik’s ears.

Erik decides very quickly that Dr. Charles Xavier is the sexiest thing in the entire planet. He should be sending Emma a fruit basket for putting him in Genetics. And just like that, Emma is his favourite person of the week.

‘I’m…’ Erik stutters, his mouth gone dry (He doesn’t understand how that’s possible with how he was practically drooling over the man). ‘I’m Max Eisenhardt,’ He finishes awkwardly, standing up in place.

Erik thanks all the gods that Emma isn’t here. She would have had a field day with all the blackmailing material she could have gotten her hands on. Or Az for that matter, who would hand over the said material to Emma. Small mercies.

‘You’ve missed a good amount of topics which I’ve covered in the previous classes, Max.’ Charles tells him after Erik mechanically recites his cover and cooks up a story for joining late in the semester. ‘You’re free to visit my office anytime you want if you have any doubts with any of the portions covered.’

Erik continues to stand even after Charles has gone back to the podium and started to say something else. A pointed cough from his left prompts him to sit down. 

Angel is smirking at Erik with a twinkle in her eyes when he looks at her.

The buzz from his mobile stops him from glaring at her. It’s from Az.

_ Alright, I spoke to the Dean, and with great difficulty, he has agreed to move you to Physics. _

_No, no. I’m fine in Genetics._ Erik is quick to reply. _I was working on the strategy and_ _I think it’s best for us to spread out across the campus. Landing in Physics would put us very close to each other._

It’s a half baked excuse at best. Erik just hopes that Az doesn’t look too closely into it.

_ What the fuck man! You still owe me for this. Don’t think I’m letting this go. _

_ Deal. _

Erik just hopes that Charles isn’t the man behind the kidnappings because that would put a spanner in the works. A huge on at that.

-


	14. The Beginnings of Belief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tumble **[here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/183428138228/the-beginnings-of-belief-pairings-charles)**

          Erik doesn’t know how it came to be like this between the two of them. He knows how it had begun very clearly. Charles and he were at an expo–a high profile business event. Charles may not have been a familiar face in the Steel industry, but Erik had heard about the young CEO of Xavier Pharmaceuticals. If nothing, Erik can spot a bring mind when he sees one. The fact that Xavier was a pretty face on top of it had been a deal sweetener. One moment they were yelling at each other slamming down the other’s view of politics, and the next, they were shagging like wild rabbits. Erik had thought that that had been it. But the next morning he’d found Charles’ business card in the front pocket of his trousers with a ‘we didn’t get finish our argument’ scribbled on it.  

Now, they meet a few times a week in a fancy hotel room booked under false aliases like some illicit lovers. Only, there’s nothing illicit in what happens between them (they’re consenting adults in their early thirties for fuck’s sake) and they’re definitely not lovers.

They didn't get to complete that argument yet. They don’t talk politics when they’re together. In fact, they don’t talk at all. They’re not friends, you see. They're… if Erik is honest is honest with himself– which most of the times he is– he can’t find a word that encompasses the dynanimity of their relationship. And it’s not very often that Erik’s at a loss for words. There’s a mute agreement between them. Charles asks–demands even– for rough. And Erik gives it. It works perfectly fine the way it is, and Erik certainly wouldn’t like the balance to be tipped.

There’s an anger in Erik that he has buried deep within his soul. A feral beast that targets nothing in particular and spares no one. Charles wakes that beast up and sets it free. He gives it wings and lets it soar. Maybe that’s what pulls Erik towards Charles time and again.

Erik forgets the injustice of how the meth-head that had run his mother over and put her in a coma is no more behind bars when he’s pinning Charles’ wrists over his head in a bruising grip. He forgets the fact that his business partner, Shaw looted their company and pushed him onto the streets when he’s biting down painfully on one of Charles’ nipples. He forgets that his wife left him yelling that he doesn’t deserve to be loved when he’s snapping his hips against Charles’ arse particularly hard. The next time he sees the dark patches blotting and marring Charles’ pale, smooth skin, Erik tells himself repeatedly that Charles was asking for it.

In truth, maybe Erik’s not the only one benefitting from their arrangement. Maybe, Charles has something in it for himself as well. When he’s growling at Erik to snap his hips harder or when his eyes swell up with tears as Erik levels his already reddened arse with another spank, or when he sighs heavily in relief as he comes and blacks out, maybe Charles is trying to forget something, too.

_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> I'm always up for filling prompts, so if you feel like it, you can drop off some cherik prompts on my **[Tumblr](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/)**!! :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Love Is Love (Love Is Deaf, Dumb, and Blind Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15257724) by [IreneADonovan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan)




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